CHAPTER 258: CHAPTER 258: NEW MISSION (1)

"These are..." he swallowed, eyes narrowing again. "...not fried."

"They are baked," Windstone confirmed, unbothered, as if confessing to the weather. "And seasoned with a healthier alternative to..."

"Salt," Lucas finished flatly.

"Precisely."

Mia lost her battle then, a small laugh escaping before she could catch it. Lucas turned his full wounded expression on her. "You see? He’s already trying to turn you against me. First it’s the nuggets, next it’s..."

"Vegetables?" she guessed, still smiling.

Windstone, already halfway back to the kitchen, didn’t bother denying it. "Enjoy your meal, Your Grace. Miss Malek."

Lucas waited until he was gone before leaning toward Mia, lowering his voice again. "Okay. New plan. Tomorrow, we’re smuggling in fries from the outside. You in?"

She grinned, shaking her head. "I’m sorry, but after yesterday, no."

"You are not fun."

"The Grand Duke would kill me if something happens. And... I have a better plan?"

Lucas tilted his head, studying her like he was weighing whether she was bluffing. "Now do you?"

"The staff are always ordering out... well, some of them," she said, lowering her voice as if it were classified intelligence. "I can check the group and order your nuggets with them. It would be vetted at the entrance and secure enough to keep my head... and my job."

Lucas considered this with the seriousness of a man negotiating a trade treaty. "So, vetted nuggets. I suppose that’s acceptable. But only if they’re actual fries. Not ’healthy reinterpretations’ with rosemary sprigs."

Mia’s mouth twitched. "I’ll see what I can do."

Lucas took one last suspicious look at the baked "fries" before setting the tray aside. "We’re relocating before he comes back with kale smoothies."

Mia laughed under her breath, rising to follow him. "Where to?"

"The theater room," he said with the solemnity of a general announcing a battle plan. "We have a movie to watch, and you have to change into something less... staff newsletter cover photo."

Fifteen minutes later, Mia returned in jeans and a soft grey hoodie, her hair loosened from its precise bun. She looked less like a communications aide and more like someone he might actually have met at a café. Lucas approved with a decisive nod before hitting play on the oversized screen.

Half an hour into the movie, Lucas was sprawled sideways in the armchair, one leg draped over the armrest, idly spearing another bite of his baked nuggets. "These would taste better if I didn’t know they were lies," he muttered.

"Noted," Mia said, curled into the couch with her own plate, her posture just casual enough to make him think she was finally off duty. "So... do you always order staff into friendship?"

Lucas shot her a look, unimpressed. "Do you always ask questions you already know the answer to?"

She grinned. "Fair. But you seem... different than what I expected. Lord Trevor’s..." She stopped herself, searching for a diplomatic word.

"A lot?" Lucas offered.

She laughed. "That works. He’s all formal edges and impossible standards. You’re..."

"Perfect?"

"Something like that," she said, rolling her eyes. Then, leaning forward slightly, she lowered her voice. "You didn’t hear this from me, but two of the kitchen staff are apparently dating in secret and trying to hide it from Windstone."

Lucas perked up immediately. "Now that is the kind of insider intelligence I expect from my new chief of gossip."

Her smile widened. "Chief of gossip? I thought I was your official company."

"Promoted," Lucas said simply, turning back to the movie. "But I expect weekly briefings. And fries. Actual fries."

They didn’t make it through the next scene before Mia’s phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting to one of quiet triumph.

"That," she said, tucking the device back into her hoodie pocket, "is my better plan arriving at the front gate."

Lucas sat up instantly, eyes bright. "Fries?"

"Nuggets and fries," she confirmed, already standing. "The real kind. Vetted at security, safe for Fitzgeralt manor consumption, and absolutely not baked."

Lucas watched her go, tapping his fingertips against the armrest like a man awaiting the birth of an heir.

When she returned five minutes later with a discreet brown bag, he practically lunged for it, tearing the top open with the reverence of someone unwrapping a priceless artifact. The scent hit first, greasy, glorious, sinful in a way that made his shoulders drop in relief.

"Yes," he breathed, plucking one of the fries with exaggerated care and holding it up to the light as if confirming its authenticity. "This... this is how the gods intended potatoes to be eaten."

Mia sat back on the couch, grinning as she watched him demolish the first handful. "You really don’t get out much, do you?"

"Not by choice," Lucas said around a mouthful of nugget, gesturing with it for emphasis. "I’m imprisoned in luxury, which sounds better than it is. You know how many crimes I could commit just to get a burger delivered without a background check?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Some people would kill for your problems."

"And I’d trade them for an unrestricted food delivery app," he said without hesitation. "I’m not unreasonable... I’d even share."

"Generous," she teased, reaching into the bag for a fry of her own.

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "That’s theft, you know. I didn’t approve this withdrawal from my stockpile."

"Consider it a tax for services rendered," she countered, popping the fry into her mouth.

He gave a mock sigh of resignation, but there was no hiding the smug curve at the corner of his mouth. "Fine. But only because you’re my chief of gossip now. Perks of the job."

She smirked. "Speaking of which... do you want to know what Windstone said about you last week?"

Lucas leaned in immediately, still chewing. "Obviously."

Mia lowered her voice, adopting the kind of conspiratorial tone that made even the air lean closer. "He told one of the gardeners that you have the instincts of a cat who’s been moved into a palace. Looks comfortable, acts comfortable, but secretly counting every escape route."

Lucas snorted, nearly choking on a fry. "That’s... not wrong. Cressida is the one you want to run from."

"I didn’t think it was," she said, grinning as she reached for another fry before he could stop her. Then, tilting her head, she asked, almost casually, "Just curious... what’s it like? Being a Grand Duchess?"

Lucas didn’t answer right away. He let the question settle, chewing slowly, his gaze dropping to the little cardboard nugget box like the answer might be hiding between the breadcrumbs.

"It’s... better than most people have it," he admitted at last. "I chose Trevor. I wasn’t forced into it, and I’m not counting the days to leave... never have. I love him. That doesn’t mean there’s no pressure, but it’s pressure I signed up for."

Mia tilted her head, curious. "So right now...?"

"Right now, I’ve got it easy. I have some work to do, yes, but the heavy responsibilities, the ones that really decide the future, won’t be mine until I’m older. Twenty-one for the first batch, twenty-five for the rest. That’s when Trevor will start handing them over."

She considered that for a moment. "So you’re... free, in a way?"

"In the way that matters," Lucas said, leaning back in the armchair. "I’m where I want to be. The rest is just waiting for the clock to catch up."